


In Loco Parentis

by OtherCat



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-07-23
Updated: 2003-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-25 08:31:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/950958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OtherCat/pseuds/OtherCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Existential vampire blues. Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/950900">Momento Mori.</a> Angel continues to mediate between Xander and Spike.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Loco Parentis

"Don't worry about it Xander," I tell him. "Everything will be fine." I have a plan. It might look a whole hell of a lot like 'making it up as I go along,' but it's a plan. Xander leaves the room, without argument--a minor miracle. Xander has 'authority issues,' as Cordelia might say, which I'd love to blame on Spike--or the demon--but which are most likely caused by the human version's I-hate-all-things-Angel Issues.

I wait until I can hear the door to Xander's bedroom close. And assume that he's actually *gone* to his room, and not just closed the door to make me *think* he's gone to his room. The vampire version is not as sneaky as he likes to think he is. Now for the second part of the plan, which involves convincing Spike to go along with all of this. I smirk at Spike. "So, I don't have the balls?"

Spike just glares at me, and growls. I get up and squat by my extremely pissed off grand child. When I take off the gag, Spike lunges toward me, snapping. I move back quickly, and kick him in the ribs. "He's mine, you wanker! I'll fucking kill you for this!" He screams. Somehow, I don't feel threatened. By the bulge in his pants, and the scent of his arrousal, Spike had obviously enjoyed what he'd seen.

I let him scream and thrash around some more before pinning him. Knee in his lower back, a hand on the back of his neck, and my other hand over his wrists. Spike still struggles, trying to buck me off, without much success. "Watch it Spike, you're turning me on," I tell him. He goes still, which is pretty much what I expected him to do.

This moment feels to me like it could be--with a few changes of scenery and costume--any one of our past conflicts. The good ones, where we ended up fucking each other's brains out. I yank up on his wrists, and he grunts in pain. "Doesn't look like he wants to be yours, Spike," I tell him in my most mocking tone.

"I'll kill you, and take him back!" Spike shouts hoarsely, trying to buck me off. I yank hard on his wrists again--which he had to have known was coming--and he lets out another grunt of pain.

Keeping a steady pressure on his wrists, I lean forward, and bite him hard on the shoulder. He groans this time, but not in pain. "Maybe he doesn't  _want_ to be yours," I point out reasonably.

"He's mine you thief!"

"Thief would imply he's property, Spike--if that's how you saw him, no wonder he left."

"Why do you care, anyway?" Spike shoots back. "Not like he's got a soul to save."

"Yeah, and who's fault is that?" I ask.

"Red's and the Slayer's," he snarls back. "Red wouldn't give him a soul, and all the Slayer wanted was to stake him." Spike's voice sounds raw now, and not just from his earlier screaming and growling. "He's all I--he's  _mine_ damn you, and I'm gonna kill you for messing with his head!" He renews his struggles, but there's not much he can do to get leverage.

I take my knee off the small of his back, and sit on him in the space where ass meets thighs. The sensation of the smooth leather of his pants is...interesting. The noise I make in response to the friction is genuine, and heartfelt. Spike immediately freezes. "Don't stop, Spike," I say mockingly. "Things were just starting to get interesting."

"Fuck you, Angel!"

"Eventually, yeah," I say. Even with the not needing to breathe thing, I sound breathless. "Right now though, I want to know how the hell you managed to make a vampire capable of having an existential crisis?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Spike demands, sounding like he thinks I'm out of my mind.

I slap the back of his head, just because I can. "I'm talking about Xander being afraid that you don't love him because--If I'm getting this right--he doesn't act enough like Xander to suit you," I say with exaggerated patience.

"That's bollocks!" Spike growls.

"Tell him that--better yet, don't. You've hurt him enough."

"Like there weren't times I hated you," Spike snaps back, and starts struggling again. "You had no right to take him from me!"

I lean forward. "Not listening well, are you, Spike?" I say in his ear. "Xander loves you, he's afraid you don't love  _him_." I grind my hips against him a little bit. His hips push back, like he can't help himself. I nuzzle against his shoulder, and move to his neck, pulling aside the collar of his shirt. I lick his neck, right where the pulse would be, if he had one. I kiss him, and he moans. "Did you like watching, Spike?" I whisper in his ear.

"Bastard." He struggles a little--not even a real effort--and pushes up against me. "He's all I got left-- _why_?" Almost a shout, full of resentment and anger.

"He's all you have left of  _what_?" I ask him.

Spike goes still beneath me, all the tension draining away, as if he were suddenly exhausted. "All I have left of Xander. But he's not, he's  _not_ my boy." Spike makes a sound that's vaguely like a laugh. "Should've been letting him run wild, help him paint the town red--or burn it to the ground--instead, all I can think of is how much I  _miss_ my boy, and keeping  _him_ out of trouble."

I sigh. "Spike, you idiot."

"What else was I supposed to do," Spike says in a defeated voice. "They wouldn't even see him, after he rose, wouldn't even hear about giving him a soul."

"That's not why you're an idiot," I tell him. I shift our position, so that we're lying back to front. Spike doesn't resist, but doesn't help either as I unfasten his pants. His head is cradled in the crook of my arm, and I offer him my forearm. He presses his closed mouth to my wrist, and closes his eyes. No resistance to him at all. "You've done an amazing job with Xander, but you're still an idiot, for all that," I say, and nuzzle at his neck, licking and nipping a little at his skin. My other hand grips the waist band of his pants and pulls. His hips lift slightly as I pull his pants down to his knees. "You both should have come to me sooner."

"Yeh, so you could set  the two of us on fire?" Spike asks snidely.

"Don't be an ass." I bite him, hard on the neck, and he arches up into it, making a gutteral sound between a groan and a growl. I reach around, and close my hand over his erection. He moans softly, hips jerking back and forth, rubbing against me, fucking my hand. "Should we move this to the bed?" I loosen my grip on his cock, which provides him with less friction, which makes him whine in frustration, which I choose to interpret as a "yes."

I move back, pick him up, and arrange him face down on the bed, with his legs dangling. Spike squirms a little as I cover him, kissing and sucking a little at his neck. He groans and arches his neck, thrusting his hips up against me. I groan back, and fumble around for the Vaseline jar. I get my fingers slippery, and run them down the crease of Spike's buttocks. His hips jerk as I enter him and start stretching him a little. I give him a variation of the same offer I gave Xander, but all he does is growl and thrust.

I remove my fingers, get them more slippery, and slick my cock. I start to push in slowly, but Spike slams back, making me groan. I'm close, I'm very close, and I'm going to  _kill_ Spike if I come before I can finish him. I growl in his ear, which only makes him laugh at me. I offer him my wrist again, and he starts mouthing and sucking on it gently, but not biting. I start thrusting, hard and fast, while nipping and licking at Spike's throat. He moans when my fangs sink into his throat, and starts thrusting back.

"Please," he mumbles into my wrist. " _Please_." Spike verbal shorthand at this point for 'May I bite you, Sire?'

"Yeah," I gasp out in my own version of verbal shorthand, and Spike wastes no time, biting hard and sucking at the wound. Which sends me over the moon. I shout as I come, thrusting hard, and then collapse on top of Spike. I lie there for a moment, then Spike starts squirming under me, so I pull out, and roll onto my side, taking Spike with me. He squirms some more.

"Got something that needs taking care of here, Angel," he says pointedly.

"We'll get to that in a moment," I say. He growls but doesn't protest more than that. I nuzzle his shoulder. "You can stay here."

He cranes his neck to look at me. "What?"

"The hotel. I want you to stay here."

"What are the rules?" Spike asks.

"Don't cause trouble, Tell me where you're going, and when you plan on being back, call in if you're going to be late," I tell him.

"And?"

"Do what I tell you. That should be obvious." I smirk.

Spike snorts. "Right, I'll give that one my usual care," he said sarcastically, then pauses, looking uncertain. "What about Xan?"

"I'm his Sire, you don't tell him what to do. Whatever else, is up to you both."

"All right then," Spike sighs, and lets me hold him for a bit before squirming. "You going to untie me any time soon?"

I untie his hands, get a knife from the drawer, and cut off the tape, and stand back. Spike sits up, pulls his pants back on, and gets shakily to his feet.  
He looks at me, uncertain and strangely vulnerable. "He--How can I expect him to stay with me, when he wouldn't before?"

"You'll have to work on that--I'm the last person you should be asking for relationship advice, Spike." I shake my head. "If you have any stuff you need to get, go get it and bring it here, we'll find a room for you to stay in."

He nods and leaves. I sit down on the bed for a moment. Is this going to work? Or is Spike going to run off, just to prove that he can? I'm thinking about maybe going after him when Xander shows up, poking his head in the door. "Didn't I tell you to go to your room?" I ask him.

"Yes," he says and looks around. "Where's Spike?" He says, and frowns, and gives the room another quick scan, like he thinks he's going to find a little pile of dust on the floor.

"Hopefully, to get his stuff," I say, and stand up.

For a second, Xander looks blank, then his whole face lights up. "He's staying here?" He asks, and grins.

I nod. "Let's get a room ready."

* * *

 

We're cleaning out a room that's somewhere between mine and Xander's when Spike makes an appearance. He stands there in the doorway, carrying a duffel bag. Xander stops attacking the cobwebs in a corner with his broom, and turns around. He starts to go toward Spike, but stops just a few feet short. "Spike," he says quietly, and it's almost a question the way he says it.

Spike shoots me an unreadable look, then looks at Xander. "Angel and I worked out a little agreement," he says, shooting me another look. Bitter, this time.

"Agreement?"

"I'm staying," Spike says. "He's going to work at playing Sire for you. You and I...we'll see what works out."

Xander flinches a little at that. "Oh, okay...oh," he says in a hurt voice.

Spike growls. "Now what's wrong?"

Xander looked away. "Nothing, just--nothing, I'm okay."

"Oh just spit it out, already! You want me to go?" He sounds angry, and probably looks angry to Xander--but I can see that it's mostly fear in his eyes.

"No!" Xander says, and starts toward Spike again, like he's going to try to keep Spike from leaving. "It's just--you're mad at me again."

Spike sighs and drops his duffel bag. "No. I'm mad. Doesn't mean I'm mad at you. Just mad."

"Why are you mad?" Xander asks.

Spike rubs his face with one hand. "Right. I'll say this once, so don't go asking again. I'm mad 'cause Angel is a wanker, 'cause he took you from me, and 'cause I bolloxed up being your sire to the point you ran off. Got it?"

Xander looks away. "I'm sorry," he says softly.

The look on Spike's face--I can't quite describe. A little tired, a little sad, and wistful. He opens his arms silently, and Xander slides into Spike's embrace, wrapping his arms around Spike, and resting his head against Spike's shoulder. "You didn't do anything, it was me," Spike says into Xander's hair. "It was me."

They held each other like that for quite awhile, then they parted and silently finished cleaning the room.

* * *

I never wanted to turn him.

I never wanted to see him turned.

Hard to convince your lover's friends of that, when your hands and mouth are red with his blood.

Harder still to convince them to ensoul the half mad fledge that wakes up when they're still reeling from the knowledge that the Slayer they ressurrected was dragged from Heaven, not pulled from Hell. And when the Slayer's eyes come alive with the first real emotion in months, and that emotion is an all consuming rage?

Definitely time to leave town.

Xander had been more than happy to leave town. He had just enough sense--and memory of what usually happened to fledglings when an active Slayer around--to know his best bet for survival was coming with me.

Not that I would ever have allowed him to stay.

Won't say it wasn't sweet, the first few weeks, having a young, murderous fledge eager to do all sorts of wicked things, just to make me happy. Won't say I wasn't tempted to let my boy just go on a tear and paint the town red--but I didn't want that, didn't want my memory of the real Xander ruined by what the demon might choose to do.

Had to tear strips off the boy's hide more than once, when he wouldn't mind me, but that's all part of what happens when you're a sire with a young fledge. It's what Angelus did to me, what Darla did to Angelus. I was just beating him for a different reason than Angelus or Darla would have.

I tried so hard to make him my boy again, to make him act like my boy, that he finally just snapped. It hadn't been like any other fight we'd ever had, not since he'd been turned, or the rows we'd had when he was still alive. Short, brief, easily mended within a week or two, with a generous application of make up sex and mutual groveling. This was the first fight where Xander had actually  _hurt_ me, the first fight where I think Xander would have actually tried to kill me, if he could have.

I've eavesdropped on him talking to Angel about that fight, sounding so frightened and miserable over what had happened that it almost hurt to listen. Asking questions about  _Angel's_ soul, and about Angelus, and what it  _felt_ like to have a soul. Angel trying to explain, or falling silent when he couldn't find the words...Angel just listening. And me outside the door resenting Angel, and hating that as much as I resented what he'd decided to do, that I was equally grateful that he  _was_ doing it.

"Hey, maybe brooding does run in the family," Xander says, and comes up beside me. I'm out in the weedy excuse for a garden, smoking a cigarette, because Cordelia throws fits if I smoke inside, or even if she catches a whiff of tobacco.

I look at Xander sidelong. He smiles at me, shy and a little wicked. "I'm not brooding," I tell him. My hands are  _not_ shaking. "I'm having a smoke." He smells of blood and someone else's fear. His clothes are torn, he's bruised and scraped up some, but no major damage. "You been having fun playing Boy Wonder?"

"Duh-dah nanana--Bat Man!" He sings and rocks onto his heels and back, grinning.

I snort, and drop the cigarrette, stubbing it out with my toe. "Playing at being the White Knight," I say. My voice sounds rough, thick and a little unsteady.

"Dark Knight," he says with a little smirk and steps forward a little bit. Close enough to touch. "So, what are you doing, if you're not brooding?"

"Thinking," I say.

He tilts his chin down, somehow giving the impression that he's looking up at me, even if he's a little taller. "About?" Wide-eyed vulnerable look, and I can't tell if it's a show or not. Time was, I would have known.

"You, me, not wanting to mess this up any more than I've already have."

"Hey," he says softly, the kisses me on the mouth. For a moment, I hesitate, then I'm pulling him closer, and he sort of melts against me, mouth and hands urges and hungry. My hands are making explorations of their own, sliding over his erection, tugging at the buttons of his fly.

He pulls away before I have to time to unfasten more than two buttons though and drops to his knees, taking my pants with him as he descends. Hadn't even noticed him undoing them, the little sneak. He smirks wickedly up at me, then rises up and forward to lick my cock, his hands resting on my hips.

I groan as my hands tangle in his hair, urging him closer. His hands tighten on my hips as his mouth slides down the shaft, slow, agonizingly slow as he goes down. My hips start to roll forward, moving in time with Xander's mouth and tongue. He moans, soft and sweet and needy.

"Xan, oh *hell* yeah," I groan ans start thrusting harder, fucking his mouth so hard that if he were still human he might have choked--or more likely, made me buy icecream for a month afterward. There's a sound from Xander, like a muffled laugh, and I wonder just how much of that I said out loud. Then there's not much room for thinking at all as I come with a howl, collapsing bonelessly on top of Xander.

Xander wiggles and squirms under me, then flips me onto my back, straddling me. His eyes are dark and wicked. "Hey," he says again, rocking back and forth slightly.

"Being kind of monosyllabic, luv," I tell him solemnly. "Don't know what you want." Like I couldn't see his erection outlined by those tight jeans of his. I reach up and rub my hand against his crotch. Xander presses against my hand and whimpers.

"Hey, aren't fledges supposed to be obscene and not heard?" He says, then squeaks when I pinch him.

"What if I  _like_ hearing you?" I ask in a low voice, rubbing the spot I'd just pinched. Xander closes his eyes and shivers, making a soft, pleading noise as he moves in time with my hand. "Well?"

"Spiiiiike!" He whines. "Please--"

"Have to tell me what you want, Xan," I tell him.

"Whatever you want," He pants, then squeaks when I pinch him again.

"Now Xan, you know better than that." I smirk up at him. "Had a nice assertive streak going there, and now you've lost it."

Xander growls at that, and swoops down for a hard, hot kiss, grabbing my wrists and pinning them above my head. I squirm around a little, grinding against him. Xander gasps and groans, fumbling at his fly with one hand, while keeping my wrists pinned with the other. When his pants are down to his knees, he kicks off his shoes, and wiggles out of his pants.

He was just about to strip  _my_ pants off, when we were suddenly soaked by about a gallon of ice water. Snarling, we both roll apart and get to our feet, ready to attack whoever had so rudely interrupted us.

Or not.

Angel stood in the doorway, holding the now empty bucket, and looking every inch the pissed off sire. He tossed the bucket at Xander, who automatically caught it, using it to shield his now half-hard cock from view.

"Nothing he hasn't seen before, luv," I tell him as I tuck myself back into my pants. Xander glares.

"Both of you. Inside. Now!"

Xander grabs his pants and shoes and scrambles inside, while I follow at a more sedate pace. I smirk up at Angel as I pass him. He growls deep in his chest, hand almost raised, my smirk widens, and his hand drops.

Xander grabs his pants and shoes and scrambles inside, while I follow at a more sedate pace. Angel stalks in behind me, and slightly to the left, looking like he's trying to decide whether to beat the both of us senseless, or bust a gut laughing. From the humiliated--and terrified--look on his face, all Xander can see is the anger. He's clutching the bucket like it's a shield that will protect him from Angel's wrath.

"What the  _hell_ did you two think you were doing out there?!" Angel demands, glaring between the two of us.

"Should think it was obvious, mate," I say with a smirk.

Angel glares. "Yeah, to me and anyone else who migh have walked by the window." He jabs a finger toward Xander. "Him, I expect to do things like that, he's barely fledged! But you--" He stops. "What the hell am I saying? Of course you'd do something like this." He shakes his head.

"It was his idea, actually," I say, and snicker at Xander's indignant shout.

"I don't care who's fault it was! Go to your room, both of you!"

Some of the terror must have worn off, because Xander's looking rebellious. So I go over, and give him a--brotherly--cuff upside the head. "Mind our Sire, Harris," I tell him with a glower. He glares back, and stalks upstairs, tossing the bucket aside in a fit of temper. I follow behind, appreciating the sight of Xander's bare ass bouncing up the stairs. When we're half way to our rooms, I grab him, and shove him up against a wall. "Your room or mine, luv?" I growl in his ear, making him shiver.

"Wha, huh?" He sounds dazed, and thoroughly confused.

I snicker. "Your room or mine," I repeat patiently.

"But Angel said--" He squirms, but not hard enough to tell me that he really wants to be let go.

I press up against him, grinding my hips into his ass. He moans, and squirms a little more--not struggling, getting comfortable. "He said room not rooms Xander," I tell him patiently. "That gives us some leeway, don't it?"

"But--" His protest turns into a needy moan when I start nibbling on his neck.

"Which room, luv?"

"Mine?" He asks as his knees start to buckle. I hold him up, grinding my hips against him some more before I catch his wrists and hold them behind his back. He presses himself against me with sigh that's half moan.

I pull away a bit, and with my hand still holding Xander's wrists, I walk him to his room. Once inside, I kick the door closed behind me, and stop him in front of the bed. "Now, where were we?" I ask as I release his wrists, and give the backs of his knees a hard nudge. He folds up nicely, falling across the bed.

"I was gonna fuck you," he says, and starts to roll over. I stop him with a hand on the small of his back.

"Slight change of plans, Harris," I tell him. "Think I like you like this." I slide my hand lower, and smack his ass. He jumps a little, and gasps.

I kneel down, and get him to spread his legs, holding them in place while I lick and nip at all of his tender places. He's a whimpering puddle when I finally pull away to take off my pants. "Lube. Nightstand," Xander says, semi-coherently. "Fuckmenowplease?"

I locate the lube and slick myself with trembling fingers, tossing the tube somewhere in the vicinity of the night stand. When I turn back to the bed, Xander's moved up a little, and he's holding his hands behind his back, left hand circling right wrist. Oh hell yeah, I *really* liked him like this.

He shivers when I cover him, moans and squirms under me when I slide into him. Pushes back when I thrust. I slip a hand under his hips, wrapping my hand around his erection, sliding up and down his shaft. Xander moves in time, babbling. "Please," is the most coherent of them, followed close behind by "fuckme" and "harder" and "Spike."

The last is what sends me straight over the edge. I roll us both over onto our side, and sink my fangs into his neck, while jerking him off. He arches, and comes with a gasping cry, bucking and spurting into my hand, then he relaxes into my arms bonelessly, and we both drift off.

Later, hunger drags me out of Xander's bed, and down to the kitchen. Angel is sitting at the table, sipping a cup of blood, and looking smug. I ignore him in favor of heating up my own breakfast. "Wouldn't hurt to thank me," he says after several minutes of smirking at me.

The microwave dings, and I take my mug out. "For what?" I ask him, like I hadn't already figured it out.

"Oh, I don't know, sending Xander home early, encouraging him to make the first move," Angel trailed off meaningfully. Wanker.

"Yeah, you're a regular yenta," I tell him with a snort, and sit down across from him.

Angel smirks. "What, not a 'Yeah mate, yer a reg'lar Machiavelli'?" His attempt at my accent is...indescribably bad. Mary bloody Poppins bad, Rudyard Kipling bad.

I mock shudder. "I'll say anything that will keep you from profaning the Queen's English," I tell him in a more upper class accent. Prissiest Giles voice I can come up with.

Angel smirks. "Pot, kettle." Pause. "So, do I get a thank you?" You'd think he was looking for my approval, or something.

I give it a moment's thought, staring down at my mug. "Yeah...thanks."

**Author's Note:**

> One of my early stories. I tended to play around with whatever fanon was available.


End file.
